Healing
by hpkiwi
Summary: A three part series focusing on some important characters as they begin the collective process of healing the evening after the final battle. First part is Ron & Hermione visiting an injured, hospitalised Lavender. Second part will be Ron meeting up with Neville, and finally, Ginny and Harry have some overdue bonding in the Gryffindor Common Room.
1. Chapter 1: Ron, Hermione and Lavender

**_A/N: Hi all! This is a multi-part fic where some of the most important younger characters of the series begin the process of healing together in the first evening after the Battle of Hogwarts. First is Ron & Hermione visiting an injured Lavender Brown. Yes, I'm aware the films (and Pottermore at one point) mentioned her as dead, but judging from the way the novel was written, there's wiggle room for her character to survive. It will be followed by Ron and Neville having a chat, then, finally, Harry and Ginny have some long-overdue bonding in the Gryffindor Common Room._**

The sky was transforming into vibrant oranges and yellows as the sun began to sink beneath the nearest peaks of Hogwarts. Ron's heart was positively pounding as he ascended the stairs, Hermione's hand firmly ensconced in his.

He cursed his own heartrate. At the end of an utterly exhausting day and a half, his throat still raw from the heartfelt yells of agony he'd uttered over Harry's apparent death, with the trauma of losing Fred and being witness to many more fatalities, and with only a modicum of sleep in a corner of the Great Hall, the prospect of visiting his ex-girlfriend, grievously injured, was making him break out into a cold sweat.

As if on cue, Hermione gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Even when not looking directly at him, she'd always been able to read his mind as well as any proper Legilimens.

As they neared Madam Pomfrey's desk, Ron gave a low, hesitant cough. The Matron, who had developed significantly more grey hairs than the last time Ron had seen her, sighed resignedly.

"Mr. Weasley?" she queried, suspicion lacing her voice. "Why aren't you resti-"

"We're here to see Lavender," said Hermione firmly, covering for him. She squeezed his hand again, and Ron turned his head to admire her – still covered in welts from the cursed treasure at Gringotts, with dirt and blood covering her face, and part of the hair on one side singed from a section of the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.

What was attracting his attention, however, was the way her irises appeared to dance animatedly at the direct eye contact. He felt a shiver go up his spine at the memory of the two times so far that they'd kissed. Granted, neither of them had been particularly romantic; their second one after all was in the middle of him half-bellowing, half-sobbing on the stairs after Fred's death and when he'd correctly deduced what Harry had done.

But by Merlin, did she know how to snog like her very life depended on it. Though amazing as it was, imagining it happening again in more romantic conditions, more slowly, deeply and sweetly, this was not the time to think along those lines….

With difficulty, he brought himself back to the situation at hand.

"She should know better," Madam Pomfrey began, a thin smile apparently playing at the corner of her lips at the silent byplay, "but she's stubborn as they come. You Gryffindors and all…."

"Is it okay if we-" Hermione began, and Madam Pomfrey beckoned them through into the Hospital Wing.

"Of course. Just be quiet; we have Mr. Finch-Fletchley, Mr. Peakes, Mr. Whitby, Miss Turpin, Miss Bones and Miss Greengrass all sleeping here along with Firenze, so be as quiet as you can," the Matron added, pressing a finger to her lips as she ushered them inside.

"Where's everyone else?" Ron asked. "St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. Most of the injured have been sent there if they can Apparate. Lord knows how Miss Brown and Greengrass survived until they got here, though – it's a miracle."

"And we need all the miracles we can get," yawned Hermione and tottering slightly. "Oh! Sorry Ron," she hastily added as she stumbled and gave his arm a yank.

"And Mr. Weasley?" Madam Pomfrey's eyes were now shining with unshed tears as she looked sympathetically at Ron.

"I don't know what to say other than sending my condolences to your brothers and family. Fred and George-" she took a sniff "-really helped with your sister's recovery back so many years ago. It showed me a new side to them, and…." He words tailed off as Ron dropped his gaze and his eyes began to burn.

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione in a very small voice, placing a comforting hand on Ron's back.

"For everything," elaborated Ron, closing his eyes at her touch momentarily before hesitantly looking back up at the Matron's weathered features. In an instant, his memory was drawn back to the multiple times himself and his two other companions, family now in all but name, had landed themselves under Madam Pomfrey's care.

Brushing at the corner of her eyes impatiently, Madam Pomfrey finished with a curt nod and proceeded to leave them in peace.

Hermione gave a tug on his sleeve and they proceeded towards the bed whose curtains were not drawn – Lavender had apparently insisted - according to Parvati – that she be allowed to receive visitors, despite her serious condition.

Ron peered at the apparently unconscious occupant in the bed and let out an involuntary gasp. There were nasty lacerations all over one side of Lavender's neck, presumably produced by the nasty fall from the balcony, and even worse, an application of dressings below that that extend out of sight below her dressing gown. They only partially covered what had clearly until recently been gaping wounds caused by Fenrir Greyback's teeth. He felt sick to the core – this was even worse than what Bill had faced.

At his inhalation, Lavender opened her eyes, and waved lazily at them. Ron moved to the edge of her bed as Hermione rocketed to be beside her left shoulder.

"My goodness…..Lavender," she finally managed. "Sorry we disturbed you; you need to have your rest…"

"Already had a little kip," Lavender yawned. "It's really difficult though, with _this_ _damned tonic_," she added, pointing disdainfully at the voluminous contents of the Skele-Gro container.

Hermione sat herself down in the nearest bedside chair, tentatively touching Lavender's shoulder as Ron moved forwards to stand beside Hermione. Instinctively, his hands reached for her back, to give her a soothing, reassuring rub….

No sooner had his fingers brushed against the clothing there that he stopped, realizing with a flash of embarrassment that this overt act of affection was being displayed in front of his _ex-girlfriend_. The one with whom Hermione had endured a tempestuously icy relationship that year, and who had suspected he, Ron, of cheating on her the night Harry took his Felix Potion to speak with Slughorn. The one who had produced copious tears while furiously announcing that it was over.

He swallowed nervously as Hermione turned to look at him, but he for now only had eyes for the convalescent girl in front of him. Much to his surprise, behind the clearly pallid, fatigued face, her eyes were sparkling.

She was smiling. Not a forced one, either.

He was unable to stop a goofy grin of relief from spreading across his lips, and before he realised what was happening, both Lavender and Hermione let out an almost conspiratorial set of chortles, though it was promptly put to an end by Lavender hissing in pain and clutching her ribs.

"Lavender!" Ron rushed forwards to gently restrain her as she looked like she was about to get up. "Please lie down – Hermione and I will sort you out." Lavender, paling once more, nodded and closed her eyes with a shiver as she lay back on her pillow.

"That's my ribs and right arm broken, a whole lot of blood lost, internal injuries, exposure and…..this," she finished, gesticulating with disgust at the cursed wounds that Greyback had left behind. "According to Madam Pomfrey, I should've been killed three times over."

"We got him," Ron reassured her. "He can't hurt anyone ever again." Lavender nodded in satisfaction.

"I know," she mumbled, opening her eyes once more. "Seamus told me both you and Neville got him. Where is he now?"

Ron gulped. Satisfied as he was that Greyback could no longer kill or maim, it was still horrible to think that he and Neville had brought about the end of someone's life. "Blown out of a window," he replied simply, as Hermione squeezed his hand.

Lavender let out a small smile. "I don't know if I should feel guilty…..being happy at the thought he's dead."

Ron smiled. "No, you shouldn't. Yes, I wanted to get at him for….for Bill, and for…." He cut off, pausing to stare at Hermione. To think that she'd been offered by Bellatrix to Greyback like she were dog biscuits…..

"….anyway, yeah, I wanted to punish him and all the other pricks for Fred, Harry and everyone else, but in the end it was self-defence….I think."

"It's okay," breathed Lavender. "Between all of us, we've all likely faced absolute horrors the last year..."

"Tell me about it," Ron muttered, turning to raise an eyebrow at Hermione.

"….but you three probably have taken the cake," she finished.

"It isn't a competition," Hermione said firmly; in the glow of the setting sun, the cut left behind by Bellatrix's blade on her throat was highlighted. "You've been incredible, Lavender…..I'm sorry I-"

"Dismissed me as an airheaded bimbo?" Lavender finished, contempt entering her voice as a patch of red entered her cheeks. Hermione blushed and looked at her shoes.

"No….um, that's not what I meant…"

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione," she snapped. "Because you're right; I was. In retrospect, anyway. Thank Merlin for Neville, Ginny, Luna and Hannah for preparing us."

"Hannah?" Hermione queried, her brows knotted in thought.

Lavender waved a hand. "Yes. She and Neville got pretty close this year – the sight of Luna being abducted brought back bad memories for her about hearing her mum being murdered, you remember that?"

"Good on Neville," said Ron affirmatively. "Did he talk about his parents, or something?"

Lavender shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, only to grimace once more. "_Bloody_ Skele-Gro. Um, not sure, but likely. You've seen how much he's grown – in helping people confront their worst demons, leading, opening up."

"Think we all have," yawned Hermione. "Sorry about that. On another note, you think there might be, you know….something there?"

"You mean a romantic connection?" said Lavender. "Almost certainly, though you know Neville, he's a very private person. Not that I've been trying to catalogue my housemates' love interests or anything, but until then I was _sure_ it was going to be Luna. Parvati agreed."

"So did I," Ron admitted sheepishly; it felt good, if even for a few minutes, to act like a teenager, even though the horror of what had transpired, along with Fred's body, lay beyond the Hospital Wing doors. He turned to gauge Hermione's reaction. A smirk was slowly eating its way across her features. "What?"

"Nothing."

Lavender was right, she was a terrible liar. One he of course loved dearly.

A stomach rumbled somewhere, but Ron knew that it wasn't his, for once. He and Hermione looked at each other, before staring back at Lavender suspiciously. She rolled her eyes.

"Must be the aftermath of the Battle, or that I've been having nothing but fluids since last night, but I'm really hungry for some steak."

"Steak?" Ron repeated, unable to stop his smirk. Honestly, though, if the worst Lavender suffered from Greyback's attack in the long term was pangs for bloody meat like Bill, then she would be absolutely fine.

"Shut up," she snapped. "It's bizarre. Usually hate the stuff."

"Raw?" Ron suggested, but Hermione elbowed him. "Careful, _Won-Won_," she breathed into his ear almost seductively. Ron shivered. He did not need _that_ nickname used by the girl he'd fancied – no, been in love with - the whole time.

"Thank you Hermione," Lavender nodded appreciatively. "All jokes aside, I'm kind of scared what I'll see when I confront a mirror for the first time."

"Relax, Lavender," he said bracingly. "You don't have anything to worry about. You saw what Seamus was like earlier in the day."

"And that's irrelevant, anyway," added Hermione conclusively. "All those scars show is that you were brave and committed to stopping the Death Eaters." She leaned forwards and stroked Lavender's palm reassuringly.

"You're a lovely person, Lavender. I…I just haven't been one to have usually appreciated it. But it is true." She looked meaningfully at Ron, who was temporarily dumbfounded as to what to say. Lavender was his _ex-girlfriend_, after all, and doing so in the company of his now _sort-of_ girlfriend wasn't something he was comfortable with. Nevertheless, the situation called for a contribution.

He chose humour.

"She's always right, Lavender, where have you been?" A flash of inspiration hit him as he rolled up his sleeve. The swirly patches of light-covered skin were all over the upper reaches of his arms and, he knew, around the base of his neck.

"Know what these are?" Lavender looked perplexed, but Ron, now blushing a little, understood why. Truth be told, they had always been far too focused on chewing on each other's lips to initiate conversations about their hobbies, dark secrets and their fears.

"They're scars from the Ministry of Magic," he added. "We were dueling Death Eaters while trying to save Harry's godfather, and I got attacked by a brain in the Department of Mysteries. Damn near killed me." He glanced at Hermione, and her expression had softened. Well, he reasoned, Hermione had labelled him an insensitive wart not too many years beforehand, so continuing to break that stereotype was welcome as far as he was concerned.

"So that's myself, Harry and Bill with scars. And all of us have one thing in common – attracting people who are well and truly out of our league…."

"Oh please," Hermine muttered, but her expression was radiant as she stared directly back at him with a small smile; Ron's heart skipped a beat. He'd give any amount of Galleons to have that look thrown at him every morning….

"I'm sorry, where was I? Oh yeah," he muttered, pulling himself back to the present. "Look at Bill, Lavender! He now looks like a gnarly Bowtruckle, but he's got the hottest lass from France fawning over him as we speak."

Hermione shot him a glare as Lavender giggled, causing him to blanch and mouth "sorry" at his irate companion, but as he turned to face the injured girl, he swore that out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione shoot Lavender a conspiratorial wink.

"Yeah, he'd know," whispered Lavender to Hermione with blatant mischief as Ron sank his face into his hands. "She's my _sister-in-law_!" he complained. "Never remind me about Fourth Year again."

"You mean like the remains of the Krum figurine Ginny found last year?" teased Hermione as Lavender let out something resembling a cross between a squeal and a giggle.

Positively scowling now, Ron drew out his wand and cast _Muffliato _to ensure that no-one would be disturbed.

"Viktor Krum?" giggled Lavender. "That was so long ago….." She leaned forwards towards Ron and let out a resigned sigh. "I should have remembered. Should have realised that….the events of Sixth Year were futile and stupid."

"Easy, now," Ron whispered back. "It was my fault." He looked at Hermione. "I'm not sure if I told you this, Hermione, or if this is the right place to say it." He looked at Lavender, who did her best to shrug. "It's okay," she said quietly. "Those times have long gone - you can speak freely around me, I promise." Ron smiled and turned to face Hermione, ears burning.

"I….guess I got really upset when Ginny told me about you and Krum."

"What do you mean?" she replied sharply. Ron looked morosely at the floor. It felt so wrong to be admitting this in front of his ex-girlfriend, and at a time when his whole family was in mourning, but he bizarrely felt encouraged to continue.

He threw his mind back to the sinking sensation in his stomach as an infuriated, aggravated Ginny let slip that Hermione had snogged Krum, followed by her belittling his romantic experience as that of a twelve year old. If only he and Harry had come up a different passageway that night….

…he and Hermione might have actually gone together to Slughorn's Christmas party. Then _what?_

"Harry and I bumped into her and Dean. I….guess I acted out of order, and she mentioned I had no right to criticise because of Harry and Cho, and you being with Viktor. I'm-" He cut off. What could he say in this situation?

He nodded to Lavender.

"I know she liked me at the time, and, well…..I made a hurtful choice." He shrugged his shoulders morosely. "There, the end."

He looked up in time to see Hermione roll her eyes slowly and nod in satisfaction to herself. "I always wondered," she said tentatively. "I wondered if it was something similar to that."

"Men," muttered Lavender from behind him. "Not though that you're one to talk, Hermione. I knew full well what the McLaggen invite was for! Really, how could I be so stupid?"

Ron turned back to face her.

"Because you were desperate to make it work," he whispered. "That's understandable. I….I shouldn't have pulled you along like that-"

"I'm over it now." There was a tense air of finality to Lavender's comment. "In my heart of hearts, I always knew something would erupt between you two, and I was selfish for stymieing it-"

"Please Lavender," Hermione interrupted. "None of us acted perfectly." She peered more closely at Lavender's frown. "Do you know when we actually got together?"

Lavender shrugged her shoulders.

"Middle of the battle," Ron clarified, his lips twitching upwards. "It was my suggestion about evacuating the elves that did it." At this, Lavender beamed. "How fitting," she whispered back. "But you mean to say that nothing happened before then? End of Sixth Year?"

Ron, now blushing furiously, opened his mouth, but to his relief, Hermione answered for him. "Nothing did happen. That night you and Ron split, Harry was with us, under his Cloak, off to do something else for Dumbledore. All we were doing was chatting with him about it."

Lavender's mouth formed a perfect 'o' as Ron exhaled in relief. "I…I did a lot of awful things that year," he said shakily. "But cheating was never going to be one of them. Never. And not even for Hermione."

Lavender nodded in satisfaction. "Always knew there was something bizarre about that night. Dean pushing Ginny through the Portrait Hole." A thought appeared to cross her mind. "Hang on, did Harry have his Felix potion that night?"

Ron rolled his eyes to high heaven in affirmation.

"Not that I suspect it made any difference," came the voice of Hermione from behind Ron. "It was only a matter of time before they separated. Both Harry and Ginny after all were shooting glances when the other wasn't looking."

Lavender closed her eyes and hissed as another spasm of pain hit her.

"It'll be good to have my ribcage back in one piece," she growled. "What did they do with You-Know-Who?"

"Call him Voldemort, or Tom Riddle," said Hermione. "There's no need to fear his name any longer. He's been moved to another location for cremation and burial." At that, Lavender frowned.

"I occasionally heard Ginny and Harry mentioning the name 'Tom.' Why would she know?" Ron felt a surge of anger in his gut as he remembered the sickening messages painted in red on the walls, the hissing of what he originally assumed was a broken water pipe in the wall beside him, of Ginny's frail, tremulous mental state that year, of Hermione's eyes frozen open as though hit by a Killing-

_Stop that._

On cue, Hermione leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. As he felt his face heat up once again, he reflected that he'd have to get used to this new normal. "Tell her," she whispered. Ron nodded silently. He addressed his next words to Lavender

"You probably heard about how Ginny was abducted and attacked, yes? Well, it was because Malfoy's father gave her Voldemort's school diary. She wrote in it, and it wrote back, using the name of Tom Riddle, as Voldemort was called when he was younger. She began to consider 'Tom' as a friend, but Voldemort actually was using that diary as a weapon. He murdered people and as a result split his soul, and concealing fragments in various objects, making them dangerous creations called Horcruxes. They made him immortal. So, a bit of his soul possessed her, and forced her to release the Basilisk on students, including…"

"You, Hermione," Lavender finished. "So _that's_ what you've been looking for this whole time? Parts of his soul."

"Just so," sighed Hermione. "It's a relief we can now tell people – we couldn't in case _he _caught on."

"Dumbledore forced Harry to agree," added Ron. "Anyway, Harry destroyed the Diary, saving her life. So we've spent the whole year destroying these things, and when Neville killed the snake, Harry could finish him off." He wondered if he should elaborate that Harry had sacrificed himself to destroy the part of Voldemort's soul imbedded in himself, but it felt inappropriate to do so. Not yet.

"You're thinking of Harry's sacrifice, aren't you?" Lavender enquired softly. He jumped a little. "Oh, yeah." It had been two long days, he reflected. So much won, and yet also, so much and so many lost.

He jumped up all of a sudden.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"Probably go see Neville or Seamus before turning in. Please, Hermione," he added. "You can stay with Lavender for a little longer. I'll be fine."

"Give your family my best!" called out Lavender. Ron nodded and turned to face her. She still looked terribly ill, but some colour had returned to her face, thankfully.

"And I'm really sorry about Fred," she added seriously. Ron nodded again, and felt once more a burning sensation behind his eyes.

"Thank you Lavender," said Hermione quietly, slipping her hand into Ron's as Ron leaned to kiss her on the temple. Out of focus, he could see Lavender's nod of approval. "You okay with getting back to the Common Room?"

She beamed back at him. "Fine, Ron. We'll all be fine from here on in. See you there."

As Ron nodded farewell to Lavender, he let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Yes, it was fantastic to see that she was on the road to recovery, and that they were now on amicable terms. At the same time, any mention of Fred still pierced him like an arrow. He realised that he now had just an inkling of what Harry might have felt after the combined deaths of Cedric, Sirius and Dumbledore in previous years.

_But the grief would fade in time_, he thought as he pulled out the Marauders' Map, scanning for a familiar name.

…..

"You're so fortunate," Lavender said quietly, apparently noticing that Hermione was still facing the figure of Ron walking away.

"We are," she agreed, feeling her cheeks heat up with pleasure. It felt inappropriate to even be thinking about such matters when dozens of people had laid down their lives for hers, Ron's and Harry's cause. And so many more injured, like Lavender.

She turned to face the injured girl, who had paled once more.

"You need anything, Lavender?" she queried. Lavender sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"Not really, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey has me covered…." She tailed off, a slow ripple of revulsion and horror erupting across her face as she stared at Hermione's face.

Hermione?" she queried. "I….I don't know what on earth you three faced out there, but….what happened?" Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure what you mean," she replied. Lavender's lip trembled as she took a claming breath and stared gravely back at her.

"Hermione," she began, lowering her voice. "You have a thin scar on your neck. Who…..who did this?" Beneath the revulsion, Hermione could detect seething anger in Lavender's voice.

She closed her eyes and let out a shudder as she once again heard Bellatrix's taunting voice.

"_That was just a taster…_ _The sooner this is over, the sooner it can be over for you. If you don't tell the truth this time, I will drag your friends up here, and they can watch me spill your filthy blood all over this floor, pint by pint. Now, when did you go sneaking into my vault at Gringotts? That sword is supposed to be IN MY VAULT!"_

"_I've never been into your vault!" Hermione gulped. "I- we've never taken anything! How could we? We couldn't get past the Goblins-"_

"_CRUCIO!"_

On and on it had gone…..

"Bellatrix," she positively gasped out. "We….we got captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. She wanted to know how we'd obtained the Sword of Gryffindor – that's a long story," she added, as Lavender opened her mouth to interject – "and she had her way with me."

"My God," Lavender exclaimed quietly, putting her hands up to her face. "How….how did you…"

"Ron and Dobby the house elf. Harry managed to use an enchanted mirror to get help from Aberforth, and Dobby was sent to help us. House elves can do things we can't – like Apparating in and out of Hogwarts," she finished breathlessly.

"Don't ever change, Hermione," Lavender smiled thinly. "So Ron and Dobby saved your life?"

"Yes they did," she answered, shivering at what had happened to the bravest elf she'd ever known. "But Dobby got killed by Bellatrix. He – he-" Words failed her as for the first time since the battle itself, tears began to sting her eyelids.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Lavender began in a small voice. "I didn't mean to upset you about asking. It's just….I needed to talk to someone who understood. Do you know what I mean?"

Hermione turned back to face Lavender, who had now sank back onto her pillows. Her dorm-mate had always been so optimistic, chirpy, flirtatious and lively to the point of irritation, and it still hurt her to see her so vulnerable and frail.

"You can tell me anything," she whispered. "If….if that's what you need to do." Lavender nodded and Hermione leaned in, doing her best to ignore the lacerations left by Greyback. _Cursed wounds_, she thought.

"It's just that when I was lying there after _that animal_ attacked me, I thought I was going to die – alone, surrounded by…._all this death_. My friends were all still fighting, some just metres from where I was, but they couldn't get to me….it was too dangerous. And I couldn't do anything to help them." She trembled and closed her eyes as Hermione took one of her hands in her own. At the contact, Lavender's eyes fluttered open again. Hermione recognised the haunted look in them. She'd seen it countless times on Harry's face, and also multiple times on Ron and Ginny.

"I'm so sorry about how I treated you," she whispered. "The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, Lavender. "

"Thanks, Hermione." Lavender's voice was more slurred from fatigue than ever.

"I can go if you want. You need some sleep-" she began, but Lavender shook her head vehemently.

"No, Hermione," she shot back, and Hermione winced at the renewed sharpness in her tone. "What do I have to look forward to? Nightmares, that's what." She sat up once again, looking at Hermione minutely.

"You know what it's like, thinking you're going to die, don't you, Hermione? Dying alone?"

Hermione nodded, turning away from Lavender.

"First time I thought I was going to die would've been in First Year," she said aloud, playing with her fingers as she mused on the extraordinary number of escapes she, Harry and Ron had been party to. "The encounter with the Basilisk was scary enough, but I was absolutely certain that I was a goner when Dolohov cursed me during the battle in the Ministry in our Fifth Year. But…..this last time was different. I still can't get _her_ out of my head, nor of Ron bawling my name out from below….."

"He's a good man, Ron," said Lavender, and Hermione was surprised to hear the total lack of dreaminess in her voice. _Man_. It felt like such a bizarre phrase. It still felt like yesterday that they were squabbling teenagers. When had they all become adults? They'd all grown up far too quickly, especially Harry and Ginny.

"I know," she replied shyly, feeling the blush beginning to burn across her face once more. With difficulty, she turned back to face Lavender.

"Do you think he'll soon be okay?"

"He will," she said confidently. "He was far worse when I was being tortured, actually. We all grieve in different ways, Lavender. Ron's actually a lot better at letting stuff out than Harry. With Harry, he tends to keep his emotions bottled up until they erupt. Good thing Ginny likes a challenge."

Lavender laughed as she also, in spite of herself, smirked.

"Harry has a temper, really?" The other girl chortled sarcastically. "I never noticed. All that yelling with Seamus at the start of Fifth Year-"

"Speaking of Seamus," Hermione cut across her – "are he, Parvati and Dean going to be visiting tomorrow morning?"

"Yes," replied Lavender confidently, a slight flush of pleasure beginning to return to her cheeks. "If I hadn't put my foot down and ordered them to get some rest themselves, Seamus and Parvati would still be here with me now. Idiots."

"The ones we love tend to be," added Hermione conspiratorially as Lavender shot her another wink. She now innately knew that her relationship with Lavender had changed irrevocably. It wouldn't be her closest by a long shot, but they'd opened up to each other more in ten minutes than in the best part of a decade. She was suddenly hit by a dizzying rush of fatigue. A bed was clearly calling her name in Gryffindor Tower. Whether it was the sofa, hers, or even _Ron's_, didn't matter.

"Why did it ….you know…happen then? You and Ron?" Hermione was still shocked to hear questions about Ron from Lavender that weren't laced with jealousy. In a flash, Hermione remembered the way a dizzying rush of adrenaline, fear and affection had burst through her defences like a toppling dam when Ron had mentioned the elves' security.

"I think we both knew we loved each other after Malfoy Manor," she whispered. Somehow, divulging more loudly the feelings for Ron that she'd until recently struggled to acknowledge to herself felt wrong. "But we both knew we…..we couldn't. Stopping Voldemort and getting rid of his Horcruxes…being there for Harry all the way was the only thing that mattered. Last night, we'd destroyed another one, and it was then I – I realised I just couldn't."

"Couldn't what?" whispered back Lavender animatedly. Hermione swallowed nervously.

"That I couldn't let myself die without letting Ron know. _Properly._ He was worrying about everyone – yes, even the Hogwarts elves - and I went for it. In front of Harry, no less."

"Fair enough," replied Lavender, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at the way the other girl was grinning like a thief back at her.

"It was the best decision I ever made," she whispered conspiratorially, getting to her feet as Lavender let out another chuckle.

"I'd best be off," she yawned. "Goodnight, Lavender."

"Goodnight Hermione, sweet dreams. And….I don't know how to thank-"

"You don't have to thank me for anything," she replied primly. "We'd have done the same for Draco Malfoy – in fact, we did. But that's another story…."

"I'm excited to hear it. See you tomorrow?" Lavender asked hopefully, raising her hand in farewell.

"See you tomorrow, then, Lavender."


	2. Chapter 2: Ron and Neville

…..

Ron had located Neville in virtually no time at all – he was pacing outside the Room of Requirement. As he made his way up the stairs to the abandoned Seventh Floor corridor that still had enormous chunks of rubble lining the passageway, he spotted the familiar figure of his old dorm-mate beside the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

"Hey, Neville," he called out. Neville jumped and turned to face Ron, a smile breaking out across his bruised, lined face.

"Hi Ron, good to see you. Hope the family's coping okay."

Ron shuddered at the memory of the falling wall, and looked out to the last blood-red remnants of sunshine peeking over the horizon further up the valley. He could see the decapitated remains of the clock tower, and the tonnes of rubble that marked the damaged courtyard. It was the end of an exceptional surreal day. Tragic and triumphant.

"Fine as can be," he sighed. "But I'm not sure how well Percy's coping, or for that matter, George." He gulped as he remembered seeing George, Lee, Angelina and Alicia all walk in, still with gallows humour intact and adrenaline pumping, only to have the surviving Twin's face transform into a mask of silent agony at the sight of Fred. Fred had literally gone out laughing like Sirius before him….

He felt a hand rest on his right shoulder; he'd been so consumed with thoughts as to Fred's last moments that he hadn't heard Neville walk up behind him.

"He didn't die in vain, Ron," the other young man said ever-so quietly. Ron gulped again to steady himself, brushed away the wetness at the corner of his eyes, and turned back to face Neville.

"I know." He looked on with curiosity at the blank wall which housed the enchanted room that he, Hermione and Harry had escaped from the previous night with the narrowest of margins, while dragging out a quite-undeserving Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle.

"You tried getting into the Room?" he queried. Neville nodded and frowned.

"I just got up here to get a few things, but each time the door appeared, I almost baked. What on _earth_ happened in there?"

"Fiendfyre by Crabbe." Ron scowled at the memory of the pudgy, sadistic Slytherin. Crabbe had been fortunate to remain out of the reaches of his fingers after casting a Killing Curse at Hermione….

….but then he remembered seeing Malfoy's ashen, mildly-blistered face, and wiped the poisonous thoughts from his mind. Fighting to defend your loved ones was one matter, quite another to perish in that hellish inferno.

"He, Malfoy and Goyle tried to kidnap Harry while we were trying to find another one of You-Know – er, Voldemort's pieces of soul." _It felt good to be able to say the name again_, he thought triumphantly.

"Voldemort hid a bit of his soul in the Room of Requirement?" said Neville in surprise, his eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. "_Why_? Was he really that arrogant as to think only he could find….anyway. Sorry Ron."

"Yeah, that's what Harry concluded. Anyway, we came back, and that prick tried to kill me and Hermione. I chased after him, and he created this raging, unstoppable firestorm. We all survived….he didn't. I saw him burn and disappear right in front of me – almost immediately." Without warning, he felt his voice crack slightly at the end. Enemies though they may have been, Ron wouldn't have wished such a horror on even Bellatrix.

"Do you think it's safe to go in, Ron?" Neville asked with some trepidation as his face paled at the horrific implications of the information Ron had given him. Ron shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, maybe. Wouldn't be surprised if it's still burning, though." Or was it that other iterations of the room remained undamaged?

"Only one way to find out," he said bracingly, closing his eyes as he thought of what he wanted.

Feeling a blast of heat on his face, he opened his eyes. The door had reappeared, though the temperature was on the verge of making Ron go sweaty-faced.

"Okay," muttered Neville. "Here goes nothing." Noticing the other boy's wince as he opened the door fully, Ron cautiously followed him into the mercifully intact dormitory. The hammocks still remained, and the colours of three of the four Houses, as well as the possessions of the DA's fighters decorated the interior vividly.

The heat, however, was almost unbearable. Neville gave a satisfied "okay, then," and, motioning Ron to head back out into the corridor, closed the door once more.

"Okay," Neville said. "Once it's cooled properly, everyone can come in and get their things. Including….." his voice tailed off.

"Who, Neville?"

Neville kicked at an isolated block of rubble as he looked back at Ron with a distinctly haunted expression.

"Relatives and friends getting possessions of those who died," he explained morosely and Ron felt as though his intestines had been seized and twisted further. He turned to look Neville full in the eye, and was surprised to see wetness there - Neville had almost never been weepy over the last few years.

"It's going to be really awful getting Colin's things out of there," he muttered. "He was underage….he'd survived lying low with Dennis for a whole year, only to…."

"He was good as of age," Ron said sharply. "Neville, remember how much Harry and I tried to stop Ginny coming with us to the Department of Ministries when she was _fourteen_? How she still sneaked out of the room to fight last night? We could never hope to stop her and everyone else."

"But….but," Neville stammered, refusing took look at Ron properly. "She's _Ginny! _She's tough and resilient – she can look after herself."

Ron felt a spark of anger flare in him.

"No, she's my bloody little sister, that's what," he snapped back. "If it was up to me, I'd have stopped her from fighting like Mum tried to – but that's all in the past. It was war." He noted with a sense of satisfaction that Neville's determination to blame himself was breaking down rapidly, but he felt nauseous again as he recalled the identity of the first Hogwarts student to perish in this long, bloody conflict.

"Besides, _tough and resilient _would be words I'd use to describe Cedric," he muttered bitterly, kicking at one of the discarded broomsticks that he, Harry and Hermione had abandoned after their escape. "Brilliant, of age, and brave too….to think I thought he was an airheaded showpony. Look where that got _him_. Point is, they all knew the risks, but they did it anyway. For Harry, Hogwarts, their friends and family…."

"I guess you're right," Neville sighed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like any of it." He raised his eyes again to meet Ron's gaze.

"I owe Ginny my life, you know. Bellatrix had got the better of me while I was looking elsewhere after we'd lobbed the Mandrakes and battled a giant…..it was the Cruciatus, again." He swallowed nervously, then chuckled wryly. "She's pretty bloody scary when her friends are in danger."

Ron also chuckled weakly, raising an eyebrow at Neville's words. He'd long suspected that Neville had once harboured small crushes on Ginny and Hermione back in fourth year (and more recently, there had been a hint of something between him and Luna after the death of Dumbledore and on the train home), but if Hermione and Lavender were right, he now had eyes for someone else entirely….

"Sounds like you're in love, Neville," he said, doing his best to sound somewhat threatening, but Neville laughed nervously.

"Oh, come on Ron!" he cried out exasperatedly. "That…..that's not even a thing, anymore. Besides, I now…." He trailed off, embarrassment flooding his features. How was it, Ron mused, that you could be the leader of Dumbledore's Army, duel the woman who had tortured your parents into insanity, face Voldemort and kill his snake without a flinch, and yet be so tongue-tied about girls?

_Hypocrite_, said a sly voice in the corner of his brain. He brushed the voice away.

"Forget it," he said calmly, but exclaimed loudly as Neville suddenly tottered dramatically.

"Hey, Nev, you all right? Surely you need a rest." Neville yawned loudly, blearily blinked his eyes, and let out a sigh.

"I haven't had any sleep for almost two whole days," he mumbled, yawning again. "I've been helping Kingsley, Madam Pomfrey and Hannah coordinate cataloguing of the dead, as well as the missing Death Eaters."

"No wonder, you're dead on your feet," Ron replied sharply. "Neville, _you have time to help_. So does Harry. We can all assist tomorrow, and the day after…."

"All right, all right," Neville grinned, nodding his head and acquiescing. Ron noticed that his cheeks had reddened further at the mention of Hannah, but he dismissed the line of thinking. It felt obscene to be thinking about _those things_ when dozens of deceased Hogwarts defenders and several of the enemy now lay in the small room that once housed the Mirror of Erised back in his first year.

"The Common Room will be nice and cozy," he added, as they passed the tapestry back down the rubble-strewn corridor towards the rest of the castle and Gryffindor Tower. "I'm looking forward to lying in my old bed again."

"So am I," Neville admitted. "The Room's wonderful and all, but it's not _the same_, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," said Ron huskily, his thoughts trailing to where Harry, Hermione and the rest of his family were. He nodded in satisfaction as he pulled out the Marauders' Map once more, quickly finding Harry and Ginny's dots in the Common Room. And Hermione was just entering through the portrait hole.

He heard Neville pause beside him. He looked up to see much of Neville's melancholy gone, replaced with a look of gratitude and satisfaction.

"Welcome home, Ron," he said quietly, patting him encouragingly on the shoulder.

….

The rest of the conversation and the walk back to the Gryffindor Common Room passed by in a blur for Ron; they discussed Snape's true loyalty, of Neville's surprise that Snape gave them such a lenient punishment with Hagrid and of his apparently idle irritation at the Carrows' brutal in-class mistreatment of Seamus, of Dumbledore's final gamble with Harry and Voldemort (Ron knew he was struggling to explain it properly to Neville, as he still didn't comprehend it himself), before matters moved to a distinctly less pleasant topic – the Death Eaters that had been killed or captured.

"You ever actually thought about killing Bellatrix yourself?" Ron whispered to Neville, grimacing as they passed a set of congealed bloodstains beside a wrecked tapestry not far from the Fat Lady's portrait. Beside him, he sensed Neville stiffen like an alert hare and shiver.

"I….I did," he positively stammered quietly, stopping and turning to face the view of the moonlit grounds; the bodies of Acromantula and giants littered the lawn. "For everything. I was going for her after I'd killed the snake, and I really, really wished it had been me. But…"

Ron gave an encouraging gesticulation and a nod. "Go on, mate, it's okay."

"But then when we were cleaning up – cataloguing the dead and wounded, moving them, all_ that waste of life_…. I'm….I'm really glad I didn't face her."

Ron frowned. "Why, Neville?" Neville let out a sigh; his expression was nauseated.

"Because your mum killed her while defending Ginny and all the others. I wasn't thinking about them when I tried to rush her and got distracted by Greyback with you. I wasn't even thinking about Harry, or my own safety. I was trying to satisfy myself and my own desires." He swallowed once, then, with a more croaky voice, continued.

"If I'd killed her – _and I would have_ – I'd have actually murdered someone. And what for? My parents – they…..they wouldn't comprehend it anyway," he finished sadly. "And that - I find it different from me throwing Mandrakes….I know it sounds silly."

"And lobbing Mandrakes was simply part of the battle," Ron chimed in, nodding in comprehension. If he was being honest, he had only narrowly avoided succumbing to the same passions during the ceasefire. "But if you had gone berserk on her, mate, I wouldn't have blamed you. In fact, I was trying to get a crack at her for…..for torturing Hermione." His eyes watered as the sounds of Hermione's blood-curdling, raw screams threatened to overwhelm him again, but thinking of their first snog, the sounds began to fade from his mind once more.

"It's okay Ron," said Neville quietly, but his eyes were shining. Ron pretended to not notice as the other boy wiped his slightly streaming eyes with his cardigan sleeve. "I actually had to restrain McLaggen at one point. He actually managed a _Killing Curse_ on Colin's murderer. No problem at all with casting it – and if Seamus and I hadn't seized him, Merlin knows what he might have done with some of the captured Death Eaters."

Ron let out a whistle. He knew that this was an issue many people were facing in the wake of the battle. Percy and Ginny had been tight-lipped about the battles they'd fought, but Charlie, Hannah and Ernie had been witness to both using potentially lethal force – Charlie had pulled Percy away from combat in the wake of Fred's death after the latter had used a combination of _Sectumsempra_ and a rock on Travers. Meanwhile, Ginny had cast a powerful Reductor Curse that had laid waste to four attacking Death Eaters. He'd personally seen Seamus - largely unsuccessfully – attempt to use the Cruciatus Curse on Thodore Nott in addition to more legitimate self-defence spells, while Dean had pummeled a Death Eater's face into a bloody pulp while struggling to gain a wand.

_The savagery of war_, he reflected in disgust. None of them would ever be wholly the same in the wake of so much trauma, brutality and fear.

"What matters is this," he began. "Just answer this question, Neville. If she was unarmed, wounded and totally unable to fight back, would you still have a crack at her?"

A spasm of thought and disgust crossed Neville's face as he chewed on his lip.

"I can't say for sure," he began timidly. "But in my gut…the answer would probably be no."

"The idea that you're a murderer is ridiculous, Neville," Ron sighed, his lips twitching upwards as he caught sight of the familiar, homely corridor that housed the Fat Lady's portrait. "If you're still thinking about us dueling Greyback and what happened to him….it was a lucky double hit. _Expulso_ from me and _Stupefy _from you. Not that I'm upset about him dying, but we were fighting to win. It's the stupid smelly git's own fault that he leapt at us when he was in front of a bloody _window_."

Neville laughed, then jumped as he looked around at the familiar settings. "Blimey," he croaked, wiping his face once more. "It's just….bizarre. So much that's wrecked and destroyed and yet this…. This is still _perfect_ in every way."

"I'm glad, too," Ron interrupted, smiling at the thought of his four-poster bed once more as he approached the Fat Lady's portrait. She was positively beaming away, sipping with her friend Violet on a bottle of clearly expensive elf-made wine. (He wondered if Hermione had been too tired to notice when she'd come in here earlier.)

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom!" she exclaimed, hiccupping slightly and going cross-eyed. "Forget about the password, come on in, now." With a click, the portrait swung back.

"It's good seeing you again," Ron replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow, ushering Neville through first.

He turned to Neville, expecting to continue their idle chat, but Neville had stopped in his tracks and was looking over at the couch by the now-roaring fire, a small smile playing across his lips.

Harry and Ginny lay on the couch, Harry's head on Ginny's shoulder, their legs intertwined and their clothes and faces both still bearing the evidence of the ferocious battle earlier that morning. But both looked incredibly peaceful and carefree – more so, in fact, than Ron had ever seen Harry before. No twitching, no feverish muttering. Just low, steady inhalations and exhalations, with Harry's lips frozen in a slight smile.

Ron's protective instincts, bizarrely, failed to flare up. Ordinarily, he assumed he'd have been extremely consternated that his sister could so easily fall asleep in the embrace of one of her boyfriends – even Harry. But these were not ordinary circumstances; both had been forced apart by an evil force beyond their control, they all had lost several people dear to them, and now, with victory secured, now was the time to relax, reassure and grieve together – beginning in full force tomorrow. Ron simultaneously felt both like a mature man grizzled by the traumas he'd faced, by all the close shaves, as well as a small child who wanted nothing more than to climb into the security of his dormitory bedsheets like the innocent eleven year-old he had once been.

"Ex-boyfriend, my foot," Neville whispered to Ron. "None of us believed her."

Ron didn't say anything – feeling guilt once more at having interrupted Harry and Ginny's moment on his best mate's birthday. Though he knew Harry could be trusted to treat her considerately, he knew it would be better for all of them if he ensured their separation remained in force. But it didn't mean that either Harry or Ginny had to like it; Ginny had barely stopped throwing him filthy looks all day, and had asserted heatedly that she could be trusted to make her own decisions with what little time remained before they left.

Letting out a sigh as he thought of the sights and emotions that would catch up to him in the Great Hall the next morning, Ron gruffly nodded at Neville, and both traipsed up the stairs, passing some rubble on the stairway. All the windows, however, had clearly been repaired by whoever had come up the stairs before them; Ron could see some dusty and muddy footprints heading to their dormitory.

He gave Neville a quizzical look.

"Seamus or Dean returned to sleep here?" he queried. Neville shrugged his shoulders.

"Nah, they're down in the Great Hall right now with the Patils, your parents and Oliver."

Ron raised his eyebrows at that and pushed open the door.

Before him was a sight that he once thought would remain forever in his (mostly) unacknowledged dreams in fifth and sixth year: Hermione Granger, lying on top of _his duvets_.

On his bed, asleep.

As Ron froze in the doorway, not wanting to find out Neville's reaction, she let out a sigh and blearily opened her eyes. Her face was still shining with dirt and sweat, and still bore the cuts and scrapes they'd all sustained in Gringotts and from that morning.

"What's the….Oh!" she exclaimed, sitting upright and her cheeks filling with colour. "Ron, Neville. I'm sorry, I'll just…"

"You're fine, Hermione," Neville laughed, elbowing Ron forwards. "Not sure if Seamus or Dean will return here later on, but feel free to stay here. You've earned it." He yawned and took off his jersey.

"As you can see, the usual orderly state of things has been thrown out the window, so please, don't worry." He disappeared behind the curtains of his four-poster bed, and Ron heard a hiss of pain as Neville began to get changed for bed.

"You all right mate?" he asked mildly, and Neville stuck a thumb out from behind the curtain. "All right," he replied hoarsely. "Just a bit of wear-and-tear from the Carrows, don't mind me."

Ron chuckled as he pulled out his wand, closing the curtains around his four-poster bed, then looked at Hermione and flushed vividly. Words wanted to come out, but his vocabulary was failing him at this point in time.

Much to his surprise, Hermione seemed to be similarly struck down. She opened her mouth hesitantly, then closed it.

"Water," Ron whispered, Summoning the nearest glass and filling it with his wand.

"Oh, thanks Ron," she whispered back, downing it desperately. Then she turned back to face him, and Ron felt himself shrink under her chocolate-brown gaze.

"Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to disturb anyone in the Great Hall, and it didn't feel right with everyone there, with….with Fred there, and I didn't want to go back up to my dormitory to sleep, not after so long and…"

"Hermione," Ron growled quietly, rolling his eyes and ignoring the constricting feeling in his chest as he heard the name of his brother. "You're fine. There's no place I'd rather you be than….Merlin, that sounded wrong," he finished lamely, ears burning.

"Goodnight, you two," Neville whispered in a sleepy slur.

"Thanks for everything, Neville," Ron called back as he turned back to face Hermione.

"Shall we talk about…" he gesticulated wildly, his face heating up further, "…_this _in the morning?"

Hermione nodded sleepily. "Good idea," she mumbled, her eyes out of focus as she squeezed his hand once. Tottering slightly, she got to her feet.

"What are you doing?" Ron hissed. "Don't worry, Hermione, you're fine here."

"Okay," she said, dropping her eye contact and blushing.

Ron pulled back the covers and tucked himself in on the far right side of the bed, giving Hermione enough space. She hesitated for a moment, then still refusing to look at him, laid herself back down as far away from his as possible on the left side of his bed, on top of the duvets.

"Oh, sorry," she whispered as she accidentally made contact with Ron's left leg; he snorted and pulled it away from her side to give her more room.

Thoughts about Harry, Voldemort, the Horcruxes, Neville, Greyback, his parents, the casualties downstairs, and most painfully of all, Fred, flashed through Ron's mind, but he closed his eyes and pretended all was well with the world.

The world wasn't right, not by a long shot. But with his best friend still alive, Hermione right next to him, and with the man responsible for all this terror and tragedy gone forever, Ron knew all would be well once the mourning had finished.

The building of a brand new world could begin tomorrow. Dwelling on that thought as Hermione's soft snores began to fill the room alongside Neville's, and nothing else, Ron let sleep take him, more smoothly than in many months.

_Next Chapter: Harry and Ginny._


	3. Chapter 3: Ginny and Harry

_A/N: Here's the final part where Harry and Ginny finally begin to catch up on the year's events, comfort each other after the trauma both have sustained, and begin to understand what the defeat of Voldemort means for themselves going forwards. It also features Molly, Arthur, Charlie and George towards the end as they also slip up to the Common Room in an attempt to temporarily leave their grief behind. Enjoy the little reference to Astoria Greengrass and Draco, as well._

Ginny was caught in a swirl of emotions and memories as she followed her instincts. Rest was what she needed. But not rest where the bustle, the celebrations and the agony were all clustered together.

Rather, the Gryffindor Common Room was proving enticing. She knew sooner or later that she'd locate Harry. But that knowledge couldn't drown out the overwhelming need to see him, hold him….finally, fully reassure herself that the nightmare she and so many others had been propelled into early that morning was well and truly over.

She'd been overwhelmed by the way her mother still sobbed over Fred, by the sight of the motionless Lupin and Tonks, so unfairly struck down at what should have been the happiest point of their lives – though mercifully, both had died within seconds of each other. She'd managed some sleep on her mother's shoulder sometime before midday, but had then gone straight into action, helping shift injured to one side of the Great Hall for treatment. Now, her work done, and too exhausted for conversation with anyone, she'd come up here for solace.

Not that there hadn't been cause for celebration as well – not limited to the end of a hideous individual who she'd literally carried around in her pocket for a whole year. And who had been singlehandedly responsible for the deluge of grief that had visited her family, Harry's and dozens more wizarding families.

She closed her eyes and stopped in her tracks as she once again remembered the way Colin had charged forwards to protect an unarmed Cormac McLaggen, saw him fall at the base of the castle walls, and recalled her Reductor Curse literally reducing an enemy to a pile of ash. And even worse, the howls of agony emanating from George and Percy as both embraced each other and collapsed to the floor beside their distraught parents and Fred's prone figure.

Then there was the sight of Harry, lying like a rag-doll in Hagrid's arms….

_Stop that_. _That never happened._

With a shiver, Ginny opened her eyes and realised with a start that she was standing barely metres away from the Fat Lady's portrait, and its occupant was staring at her expectantly, though sympathetically.

"I'm sorry…" she stammered, flushing bright red. "I…I can't remember the password. After all this…."

"Don't worry about that, dear," interrupted the Fat Lady smoothly. "You need the rest. And so does a certain someone."

Ginny, in spite of her crushing fatigue, felt her heart jump a beat.

"Did you mean…."

But grinning conspiratorially, the Fat Lady beckoned Ginny forwards as her portrait swung to the side, revealing through the gap the reassuring, homely colours of the Gryffindor Common Room.

It was once through that she was greeted by a sight she never thought she'd see.

Harry, some of his minor cuts and burns being healed by none other than a certain detestable, wizened elf who was dabbing his master's face with a cloth presumably containing dittany.

"Miss Weasley," croaked the aged elf in greeting, bowing low to Ginny, who for a moment was too shocked to reply. "If you'd like, I can bring something for you and Master Harry…"

"Thanks, Kreacher, but you've done more than enough. Permit me to say that you would have made Regulus proud," said Harry warmly. Ginny cleared her throat and locked eyes with the elf whom she'd once so vividly detested, her disdain only heightened by Harry having told her during a quiet chat after a game of Quidditch in the Burrow's orchard on her fifteenth about his ownership of Kreacher and of the latter's role in Sirius' death. She was surprised to see the elf's eyes shining with unshed tears. When had things so vividly changed? It was a question she wanted answered, but there was so, so much more to get out of the way first….

"Thank you for looking after him, Kreacher," she said quietly, her eyes meeting his – and she noted with disgust that one side of his face was covered in bruises.

"And get yourself some rest, too," she added hastily. Kreacher bowed low once more.

"Master Harry always thought Miss Weasley was kind and brave. Oh yes, I see he is right now," he whispered, though Ginny was unsure whether his words were directed at her or himself.

"Er, thanks," she managed awkwardly as Kreacher tipped his head in hers and Harry's direction and clicked his fingers, Disapparating instantly.

With Kreacher gone, her sole attention was now focused on the boy lying on the couch beside the now-roaring fire, staring at her with an almost frightening intensity.

"You're here," he whispered hoarsely.

"Well, where else would I be?" she shot back rather heatedly, her year of heartbreak, her utter terror over the fate of every single person she ever cared about, crushing grief at the loss of Fred and the despair over seeing Harry himself apparently dead – and the gleeful confirmation of this by Voldemort - sweeping through her veins once more.

A lump was burning in her throat, and her eyes were beginning to water. She knew sooner or later that this frenetic storm of emotions would reduce her to being a crying mess, but she willed herself to keep the tears at bay. She'd only lost control over seeing him apparently dead – it would not happen again now, at this moment of reunion.

"Ginny?" Harry's voice was soothing, but in Ginny's current turbulent and erratic state of emotions, it also came across as frustratingly condescending.

"I'm so sorry about everything. None of this should have happened. I'm sorry about Fred, about…."

"Shut _up_," she growled, tears erupting onto her cheeks in spite of herself. She furiously wiped them away. "You're _sorry_? Sorry that the man who forced me to set a monster on my friends, had his pet snake attack Dad, made you an orphan, and brought about the deaths of Fred, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye and dozens of others last night – Merlin, probably hundreds in total – is dead? Sorry that it's over? Sorry that for the first time ever, I don't have to worry about what Tom has in store for _you?_ That kind of sorry?" There was a pause as she felt a stitch coming on, but foolishly ignoring it, she launched into her tirade again, not caring that more tears were now pouring down her cheeks.

"You give yourself up to him, doing as he asks to save us all, survive, defeat him and ensure everything we've ever fought for isn't destroyed, and you're meant to feel _sorry_? Spare me the Hippogriff dung, Harry. That's not what Fred thought, or Remus and Tonks, or Colin, or anyone who fought here last night and died or else was wounded. Ask Lavender right now! She doesn't think that, Mum and Dad don't, and _nor do I,_" she finished fiercely, jaw locked and daring him to argue back. "Are you sorry for _that?"_

She positively ran out of breath, her pulse soaring, glaring at him. Part of her felt guilt at erupting into a furious tirade at him during their first encounter alone in almost nine months to the day, but _the git deserved it_, she thought.

Harry scowled back at her.

"No, I'm not," he replied quietly but determinedly.

"Bloody better be," she shot back, feeling an indescribable surge of exhilaration as she scanned his weathered features more minutely. His hair was even messier than usual and caked with grime, while his chin was now covered in black stubble, his clothing was ripped, dirty and slightly bloody, and he looked thoroughly exhausted. In many ways, he looked like an entirely different person.

His eyes, however, told a different story. For they were fixed solely on her, and moreover, he looked _nervous._ It was the same look he'd given her just before they'd kissed in her bedroom, the day of his seventeenth, that final present and message wrapped into one – that she understood what he was doing, accepted it, and that there was still no-one else but him, and he should remember it forever. Including, implicitly, to the grave.

It had been so rudely cut short, but she knew from the way Harry had precisely matched the intensity of her kisses that nothing had evaporated in the wake of Dumbledore's death. Now, here was confirmation that the yearning for more time was still there.

She was, however, too exhausted to rush at him and snog him senseless. Besides, it felt obscene after Fred's death, and grief was still lurking around the back of her mind, ready to pounce once more.

She took a deep breath, instinctively dampening her lips slightly, and walked around to directly in front of the couch where Harry was sitting. The seconds ticked by as they stared into each other's eyes, both hesitant at making the next move. She knew she must look a mess at the moment - cuts, mud and blood over her face, her shirt, jumper and jeans severely ripped, her face blotched and her eyes bloodshot – but she knew Harry didn't care one bit, and nor did she. Harry gingerly held out his hand in front of him – she took it, laced her own fingers with his - and she heard Harry exhale at the contact.

"Ginny….I…" his voice was almost reverent as he stared back up at her, and Ginny instinctively knew he was searching for the words that they'd somehow never said to each other.

"I know," she whispered softly, wrapping her free hand around to the base of his neck and pressing her lips to his forehead. "I always knew."

Breaking the contact, she looked down at Harry's hand – covered heavily in scar tissue. Harry followed her line of sight and snorted. "Gringotts," he answered. "Yesterday morning feels like a lifetime ago-"

"You broke into Gringotts?" Ginny interrupted incredulously.

Harry nodded, and let out a half-smile, his eyes closing lazily. "All in a day's work. And escaped via a dragon. Seemed like a good idea at the time," he joked weakly.

"Only you three idiots. Typical," she mock-scolded, squeezing his hand and half-collapsing onto the space next to him.

"That's me," he chuckled weakly. "Harry Potter, dragon tamer extraordinaire. _Ow."_

"You deserved that," she shot back, pinching his armpit once more. "And talking of magical creatures, since when did you and Kreacher get so close?

Harry yawned.

"It's a long story," he began, "and one that can probably wait until tomorrow. I can tell you everything then. Horcruxes, where we went, what Voldemort was doing. All starting tomorrow. But I'll just say this; Hermione was right about Kreacher. Unbelievable, but true."

Ginny chuckled at the thought of Hermione, on the run with Ron and Harry, still finding time to give them a SPEW lecture in-between dueling Death Eaters. "Sounds like her," she agreed, "but what happened to him, is he all right?"

"Yeah, he is. He fought Bellatrix, Hermione tells me, and she was about to have her way with him when Hermione began dueling her."

"That's our Hermione," she said with pride, recalling the brief horror of seeing her friend facing Bellatrix's wrath alone before she and Luna had intervened. "And what about you, Harry? It just had to be _Expelliarmus_, didn't it?"

Harry let out a snort and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, yawning as he did so. "It worked the first time I faced him properly. And besides, I didn't need to try and kill him – I knew that wand was mine anyway."

Ginny had heard snatches of talk about wands made of elder before, about how they were supposed to be unlucky for their owners, and had also been read Beedle's tale, naturally, but knowing that _the _Elder Wand existed was just one of the many revelations from that morning which had made her head hurt. It paled in comparison to the rush of affection for the boy sitting beside her who had declined to use lethal magic on the most evil wizard of all time, even to defend himself. And even after that wizard had done all he could to tear Harry's life to pieces. The pressure behind her eyes grew again as she thought again of the war dead, of Fred, of all the people she'd cared about who had perished. And of what they'd witnessed – Bellatrix, not content with merely killing people, maiming others with Sectumsempra indiscriminately in the final stages of the battle. Of people crushed by giants, or attacked by Greyback. Or, in her case, reducing a man, no matter how evil his intentions, to ash.

The sight of the Slytherin girl she'd comforted in what she'd assumed was her dying moments came back to haunt her - along with the memory of the moment she'd heard an unusual noise and intuitively _knew _that Harry was heading to face Voldemort_. _Thankfully, both he and the girl she'd comforted had survived, though quite how that had happened was a miracle, even with Madam Pomfrey's expert treatment and stabilisation. She'd become so numb to the horrors of the battle that she even lacked the ability to feel disdain for a haggard, ashen Draco Malfoy as he approached the once-again conscious, injured girl minutes after the defeat of Voldemort and gave her hand a squeeze before being pulled away by his parents. Had he whispered her name? It was something-or-another Greengrass, she remembered.

And in spite of this, of families being ripped apart, of people she knew dying, being injured, or in some cases, being compelled to kill for self-defence, Harry had offered his mortal enemy a final chance to stand aside.

"Harry," she croaked, cursing her wobbling voice. "Why, after all that he and his side threw at us, did you give him that last chance?"

Harry let out a melancholic sigh.

"I remembered something that Dumbledore told me, last year before…before we got together. That prophecy really meant nothing at all – not until Voldemort hunted down my parents and cursed me, thinking he had to act on it to save himself. It only meant anything at all because Voldemort set store by it. I….I could've in theory forgotten about Voldemort, or tried to, and pretended that everything was okay, even after Dumbledore's death….and continued what we started," he finished, his cheeks visibly burning in the low glow of the firelight as he started into the fire's depths in deep contemplation.

"But he would've found me, one way or another, before long. And found you. Besides, I found out last night that in theory, I was marked for death from when I was born. My death would help defeat him. Because…._I _had a Horcrux inside me. A bit of his soul. Just like with his pet snake."

Realisation flashed through Ginny's mind. That was the reason Harry could speak with snakes, had found her in the Chamber of Secrets, knew that her dad had been attacked, and had unique insides into Voldemort's – Tom's – mind.

"So you had to die," she whispered, her vision blurring, but much to her surprise, Harry turned to her and shook his head. "No, I _thought_ I had to," he explained. "I still can't quite understand it, but when Voldemort took my blood after he'd killed Cedric, my mother's protection also extended to between me and him. Meaning…somehow….that I could still live. I saw Dumbledore after the curse hit me."

"In _heaven?"_ Ginny exclaimed, almost knocking Harry on the head with a flailing arm (her right, nestled on her knee, was still holding his). Harry turned and gave her a non-committal shrug.

"Dunno," he replied contemplatively. "It was like a train station…like King's Cross…all white, and I saw him, talked to him, and saw the bit of Voldemort's soul that had been destroyed. Trapped, whimpering, flailing," his voice trailed off, as a look of nausea rippled its way across his face. When he spoke again, his voice trembled, like Ginny's had.

"I knew then what fate he'd face, if he didn't attempt to feel some remorse, tried to piece his soul back together. I tried, but it was beyond him. Maybe it always was, even when he was so much younger." There was no mistaking it now. There was sadness in Harry's voice, and Ginny recalled the look of utter exhaustion and astonishment as the boy she'd loved more deeply and painfully than her silly, besotted eleven year old self would have ever thought possible, stared at his old enemy's crumpled form with a total lack of gleeful jubilation. Affection gushed up inside her like a geyser that was boiling over and about to erupt.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered once more. "I definitely know I was right when I said I was mad about you last year over hunting Voldemort. "But-"

"I know," Harry interrupted, squeezing her hand once more. "He didn't deserve it. But I had to try anyway."

They both tailed off into companionable silence and as the seconds ticked by, accompanied by the aflame logs snapping under the heat of the fire, Ginny thought of the incredible pride Harry's parents and godfather would surely have felt at the achievements and personality of the young man Harry had grown into without their presence.

It was far more pleasant than thinking about her feelings of guilt in particular over Colin's death and the fact that Demelza, her friend and teammate, had been lucky to only be hit with a Stunning Spell. _I should've told them to flee, let the older DA members and Order do their work_.

But if she was being honest with herself, she was being hypocritical, given she'd badgered Harry into coming to help rescue Sirius at age _fourteen_. That was her choice, like it was with Colin, Demelza and Jimmy Peakes, whom she'd witnessed get injured.

No, it was far more pleasant thinking about Harry, of his warmth pressed against her left side, of his hand in hers, of how his eyes lit up when they saw her – how he looked _nervous_, even.

She yawned. It had been an awfully long day, and she knew she needed to be at full energy to the next morning to begin properly processing the loss of so many people dear to her, but that could wait. Right now, this moment, with her hand intertwined with the very same person whom she believed dead at dawn that morning – was a literal miracle.

Acting on impulse, she let go of Harry's hand, and trailed her hand over to Harry's chest, to where she knew his heart lay beating, continuously, reliably.

As she felt his pulse, she heard Harry hiss with pain slightly.

"You okay?"

He nodded. "I think I've bruised myself there. It…it was where his curse struck me. I seem to be building up a collection," he added wryly, moving his fringe aside to reveal his scar. "I'm feeling rather relieved that this bloody thing isn't going to keep waking me from now on, to be honest."

The wry tone of his voice, in spite of the seriousness of what he was inferring, set Ginny off into a set of chuckles that for the first time that evening, felt genuinely like hers.

"You sure that bruise on your chest was from his curse?" she replied cheekily. "Not from where you...I dunno…got a Hungarian Horntail tattoo at last?"

Harry snorted at the memory of her casual flirtatious banter with him, as well as the tattoo joke that had so amused Hermione and hacked off Ron.

"He knows it's a lie, now," Harry whispered in her ear. "The tattoo stuff. Thanks, I might add, to him becoming me last July."

At which Ginny rolled her eyes. Ron really had been thoroughly annoyed by her suggestive joke, the idiot.

"I'll have to tell him to keep his hands off your body then," she shot back, "or else there will be consequences. Painful ones, involving having his own bogeys attack him." She was particularly pleased to see Harry choke with laughter and flush as red as a tomato. It really was too easy with him. It brought back memories of those snatched, precious few weeks after the Quidditch final last year, of walks by the lake, visiting Hagrid together, of him looking as carefree as she'd ever seen him.

Harry let out a yawn, and blinked blearily.

"Whoa," Ginny whispered, wrapping an arm around his back to steady him. His eyes locked with hers once more, and she felt her heart skip a beat once more, and also could feel the tell-tale heated flush climbing her cheeks as she was suddenly possessed by an overwhelming desire to have his lips on hers once more. She could tell from Harry's nervous swallow and own flushed face that the same thinking was crossing his mind.

So she went for it. Not in a frenzied rush like the last time this had happened, but more slowly, comfortably, relishing the tickle of his stubble on her chin as he tilted his head one way, followed by the other, relishing the way one of his hands gingerly crept up to become lost in her still-messy, dirty hair, relishing the pause as they both pulled away for a moment, drinking each other in.

He was _alive._

This was what winning meant for them.

"Ginny," Harry's breathy exhalation if anything made her heat up further. She kissed him again, slowly, softly, the way she'd always wanted to for most of this entire rotten year, through the Carrows' torture, through the DA rebellion, then the staying in exile at Muriel's. Harry's hands were warm to the touch, as they slowly moved in circles around her back, and especially when one dipped to her waist, and she felt his fingers contact the small patch of skin beneath her jumper.

She broke away from her kiss, and pulled Harry in closer, resting her head on his shoulder and exhaled deeply.

"It's been a long couple of days," she mumbled, and she felt him nod his head.

He broke away and yawned again, looking slightly sheepish. "It's the fire that's doing me in," he mumbled back. "Feels like I'm turning into Hermione."

She laughed, adjusting herself into a more comfortable position herself and intertwining her legs with Harry's.

"So we can discuss everything tomorrow?" she asked, and was relieved to see Harry nod.

"If I tried to explain everything, we'd be awake here until early morning or something," he said quietly, tailing off with another yawn. "Goodnight, Ginny. Thanks for being there for everything."

He closed his eyes, and after about thirty seconds or so, his head lolled onto her shoulder. Ginny, in spite of her own fatigue, was simply transfixed by the way he looked so innocent and peaceful all of a sudden.

She slowly bent over him and kissed his forehead.

"Thanks for being alive," she whispered, before closing her eyes herself and surrendering to the peaceful embrace of sleep, at long last.

….

It was a couple of hours later that four occupants entered the Gryffindor Common Room. At the sight of the youngest Weasley nestled against the young man they'd come to associate a one of them, Charlie dropped his mouth open in shock. But Molly smiled knowingly at her husband and turned to face George, who had managed to produce a timid smile from behind the curtain of misery he'd been hiding behind all morning.

"Is..are they…" Charlie finally spluttered, but Molly batted a hand at him.

"Oh, shush, Charles. Ginny's right where she's needed," she admonished, sighing melancholically as she turned to face Arthur. The sight had rallied her spirits somewhat, after slowly beginning to digest the news that Fred was irreversibly, truly dead. But she was also feeling grateful that this young man before her, whom she'd long come to love as one of her own, had not perished after all. When she'd stepped in to duel Bellatrix, her immediate terror was of losing a _third_ child.

Harry had matured enormously from the time he'd first caught sight of the nervous, totally lost boy at King's Cross all those years ago. Now, he'd clearly let someone else in her family besides Ron into his inner circle, and she couldn't be happier at that.

"I said already that we good as had another son, Arthur. Back in Grimmauld Place," she said quietly.

"And it's looking it might soon be official," added Arthur, pecking Molly on the cheek as she turned to face Charlie, who had paled again. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not that I'm downplaying…downplaying Freddie," she whispered sadly to her second-oldest son, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. "It's just that right now…"

"I know, Mum," Charlie smiled, rubbing her arm gently in return.

It was a couple of minutes later, when Molly had settled down on a couch opposite her youngest and Harry, alongside Arthur, that her thoughts began to dwell once again of the pressing grief that was constricting her chest with every breath. George and Charlie had both taken armchairs on the opposite sides of the Common Room, and Molly knew they needed her presence in this room as much as she needed them. They would all need it in the days, weeks and months ahead.

But then she looked once again at the peaceful form of Harry, looking more contented that Molly had ever seen him and she then innately knew a simple truth.

If Harry, with all the grief, guilt, responsibility and trauma resting on his shoulders was going to recover from this, then she knew all of them would. It was this thought that sent her off to sleep beside her husband and three of her children, whom had, miraculously, come out of this terrible, terrible battle.

….

It was many hours later that Harry awoke once again. The fire in the Common Room had burned down to mere embers, and he noticed with a shock that half the Weasley family was sharing the room with him. Molly and Arthur were resting on a couch directly in front of his and Ginny's. As he looked behind, he saw George and Charlie also both dozing in armchairs, tear tracks down both their faces. It was then that Harry remembered what had happened to Fred, and his stomach turned over.

So many lives wasted….

But then he remembered the moment Voldemort's body dropped pathetically to the ground, and he remembered it was all over. Permanently. He had no idea where Ron and Hermione were right now, but the knowledge that they had survived was good enough for him now. There would always be time with them to talk, reminisce and mourn together. Just like with Ginny.

He turned to his right to face her, her curtain of hair pouring over the back of the couch as she stirred slightly at his movement, then mumbling slightly, settled once more. Here, beside him, miraculously alive, was the very girl who had been his final thought as the second Killing Curse he'd encountered hit home.

The burden had been lifted, now, for both of them. There was to be no more running, no more hiding, no more battle plans. They could now pursue their Quidditch and other interests, mock Ron and Hermione's infuriating antics, mourn together, and socialise freely (even if it meant occasionally nocturnally evading Ron.) They could even eventually share a home and raise a family, were they both inclined.

The dark and windy path he'd followed, set in motion by a prophecy in a grubby room in the Hog's Head almost two decades beforehand, had come to its inexorable end after enormous suffering and loss. What lay ahead was an unlimited supply of golden days of peace ahead.

For all of them.


End file.
